The Tale From the Far North
by Once Upon This Time
Summary: The Very Essence of Love) Through a series of lies and necessity, the final half of Gaston Leroux's account was written as a fabrication. Following Christine's flight to the rooftop with Raoul, Christine becomes convinced that Erik was watching. She begins to contemplate the ultimate madness- seeking him out to put to rest her chaotic agony. Even a false tale is based on truth...


_The Tale From the Far North_

_L'Epoque Parisian Newspaper_

_A Singular Edition Chronicling the Fictional Fate of the Disappeared Christine Daae by the Journalist Gaston Leroux, Claimed to be Factual by the Author, April Fourth, 1896. Contains entire account._

_I. Prologue, In Which the Author Urges Belief_

I must urge the public to hear me out. The life of a dying widow depends upon belief. L'Epoque is the sole paper which will listen to my tale, and I must also urge its readers to heed my words. Christine Norsalup, nee Daae, is critically ill. It is not an illness which stems from her body, but her heart. It cannot be healed with medicine. It cannot be healed through time. It cannot be healed through a psychological analyst. It seems that Madame Norsalup is inconsolable except by belief of the tragedy, and I must do all I can to save her. We cannot stand idly by and watch the greatest star of our age be reduced to a corpse! Her illness is worsening at this moment, both physically and mentally. It is true that she is ill, but it is true that she does not heal with medication. As though by will, she is trapped in decay. But for my duties to tell Paris of Monsieur Norsalup's tale, I too would have accompanied the terminally ill Christine Norsalup to Sweden.

The rampant rumors of the Opera Ghost are not a fabrication, but banter based upon factual events. The rumors of La Carlotta's terrible fate, of Richard and Moncharmin's reasons for resigning as managers of the Opera Garnier, and of what occurred beneath the Opera are all true.

I have urged the papers to spread the tale, but have instead been mocked or believed to be in jest. Who shall listen now but my readers? You must believe, else all shall be lost.

I am remorseful that I must explain the dreadful events of the year eighteen ninety-six in this manner. It gives me great pain to do so in the cheap form of what will inevitably seen as a work of sensationalism. Unfortunately, L'Epoque seems to believe my tale to be all in literary jest. Though only a year has passed since what I will mark as the beginning of the tragedy of the Opera Ghost transpired- this being the fall of the grand chandelier upon an unfortunate usher, proceeded by the first abduction of Madame Norsalup- and three months have passed following what I will mark as the end of the tragedy- the details of which Madame Norsalup has forbade me to describe- there is very little evidence that will support my account. I believe this lack of evidence can be attributed to the efforts of both Messieurs Swarvet and Goliet, the current managers of the Opera Garnier, and Adoracion Castelot Barbezac, a wealthy lady who would have many reasons to hush the affair. Although Madame Norsalup herself strives to tell the story of her late husband, the Comte de Chagny, who now resides with her in her native Sweden, seems reluctant for his part in these events to be exposed. Indeed, it is not unreasonable to deduce that he wishes to be spared painful memories of the tragedy. We all wish to be spared from these memories.

Do not mock this tale. I must now be believed, if for no other reason than that every part of my tale is the truth. Believe my words- all are sincere, and all are urgent. All of my words are written for the express purpose of truth alone, and for no other purpose.

I cannot express the depth of my grief. Though I am by nature detached from my work, as required from the line of journalism. In all that I have seen and heard over long years, I have never found such tragedy in any story but this. Yet there is nothing which has repulsed me so deeply, nor so horrified bysuch dark secrets. Shall these secrets ever be known to the public? I feel that those strange truths shall never see the healing light of day, and will seep into my soul- and destroy it. Shall the lost souls ever find each other in peace? Will they be forever trapped beneath the Opera Garnier? In sleep I often dream that those silent screams still echo in the catacombs, and that those souls will never escape from that labyrinth. There are skeletons in those terrible catacombs, and horrific grinning skulls. In sleep those terrible skulls hover above my bed and laugh, and they often have glowing yellow eyes.

There is great darkness in the souls of those who have been touched by tragedy, and I pray that they may not be haunted by those glowing eyes. Perhaps someday they will be able to escape those mental catacombs. How brave and kind they have proven themselves to be!How wicked some are, yet how crafty are they all! For all are survivors of a momentous nightmare, one which has perhaps not ended.

Madame Norsalup's terrors may end in death. Physically, she is wracked with endless agony. Raoul de Chagny writes that she coughs up blood day and night, and vomits most of what is fed to her. Her condition is such that the Comte would return with her to Paris at once were she not too perilously delicate. The Comte also believes that the questioning of the police and public alike would prove far too much. However, I am told that Madame Norsalup is in the care of the most advanced medical professionals, and that the Northern air seems to do her some good. Yet she continues to sicken; she is gaunt, pale, and far too thin. Her poor eyes have yellowed, and her lips have cracked. Her breathing is very poor, and when she is conscious, she often cannot stand. There are times, however, during which she seems to gain an impossible strength, and walks troubled in sleep. There is no greater danger to her life than this; she has fractured her right hip in addition to several ribs in a coughing fit.

In mind Christine Norsalup is terrifically unsound. She seems now to have the mind of a child, and hallucinates often. She suffers severe bouts of amnesia, and nearly always is unable to comprehend what is around her. At times she seems to believe that her father is alive, along with Monsieur Norsalup. It is a tragedy indeed to read of her suffering so, and I mourn for her. In the times when she mistakes the Comte for her late husband, Madame Norsalup often makes strange advances towards him, and seems not embarrassed in the least. How should severe madness make this so? Were it to be allowed to be so, Madame Norsalup would take the Comte as her husband!

I am told that Madame Norsalup often sings songs which her father taught her in her infancy. That those songs would lighten the cold North were they sung in joy, I do not doubt. They are songs which carry all the beauty of Faust or Mozart. The Comte has written the lyrics and sent them to me; that I could only hear the voice and music which accompany those songs! Madame Norsalup knows of great secrets; all of which were gleaned from her dear father. How tragic is it that the public shall never hear those songs! I am also told that she prays every day; has there been a sweeter loyalty to the departed in all the world? How may such tenderness go unrewarded?

Bless the soul of poor Madame Norsalup. She writes to me when she is in more lucid states of mind. Here is the first letter which she sent to me from Sweden, reprinted with her permission:

Monsieur LeRoux,

I urge you to set right those matters which must be repaired. My husband's story must be heard; you know this within your very soul. I must plead with you to set right public knowledge of my husband's death. I do not wish to recall the events of the previous week, but I have no purpose to live now but this. Monsieur LeRoux, I beg you to tell the world of my husband's life. His very existence is a myth, and I cannot allow his memory to decay. You must understand, Monsieur, what it is like to loose a beloved in this way. There are so few to validate his mere existence! I can speak to so few of the tragedy, and none but Raoul would believe. The loneliness is bitter, and there is nothing but ice in my heart. Do you know of this pain? Oh, my Erik! You, Monsieur, must know of this pain. There are certain voids which open in the deepest places of our hearts. And they are never filled.

Our friendship has been short, but I have the fullest faith in your loyalty to unknown tales. I know of your need to bring to light those things which are undiscovered, and if it is your last act, I charge you to set right this nightmare to the best of your ability. I implore you- turn the countless rumors of the Opera to true tales. Erik must not have died in vain.

I am overcome with a terror of being found. I know that we are quite far from any hope of discovery, and yet there are far worse things which have found us. I am not at all certain of what is reality and what is horrific illusion. Demons of contemplation and ambiguity have crept into my thoughts, and they shall never leave.

I know now that the world I believed I knew was a lie. Beneath the sun and hope there are dark, impossible things which make up all that truly exists. There are far too many places where morality has no solution for evil, and where impossible choices must be made. God, that I could unsee reality! There are no angels, nor God, nor love. And when I sleep at night, and pretend that I am a child once more, I hear the demons clawing at the lie.

But of course, I know that there are no such things as demons. Father's stories were the merest bits of nothing, meant only to entertain.

I am very sorry to disturb you in this fashion, Monsieur Leroux. I am in grief, and I believe I have caught cold. I promise I shall return eventually. It should be lovely now in Sweden, but I have found only bitterness here. How fares the weather in Paris? It is always cold in Sweden. I wonder that I ever loved this country! This land is an unkind one, to be certain. Here the people are poor, and few and far. The light is always dim, and I am in the clutches of the loneliness which naturally pervades the land. Yet there is some force here which binds me to stay. At the very least, a few blessed memories of my homeland remain.

Christine Norsalup

In this letter, Madame Norsalup displays a clear soundness of mind. What occurred during these months which reduced her to the state of her latest letter? What terrible depths did her spirit descend to? Alas that I am unable to risk a journey to Sweden; I am needed to gather evidence. Someday I shall seek around those secret-filled lakes, and find those rumored figures of legend.

Christine Norsalup may simply be a victim of youth and innocence. Not once in her life can I be convinced that she intended harm; there is nothing within her now but the sweetest naivety. She must be honored, and her story heard. Though her first morose letter seems entirely agreeable with reason, her current state must be recalled. Now she has no way to separate the living from the dead; she seems to believe all of her acquaintances live. Her latest letter shows a frightening decline. If I were a medical advisor, I would at once demand her return to Paris. To give evidence of her decline, I have here included her latest letter:

Monsieur Leroux,

I am particularly desperate today; have you seen my husband? Are you hiding him from me? Raoul tells me I shall not see him again for a very long period of time. Has he gone on a very long journey, Monsieur? He has been away for far too long!.. Three months, I believe. Raoul has told me that when I see Erik once more, we shall never be parted!.. I hope this is true. Raoul has promised that when we meet once more, we will have a world all to ourselves. Yet here is an even greater vow: He has promised me that when we meet again, Erik will no longer be shunned! Is it not exciting? Is it not glorious? Raoul has even promised that I will see Father once more! Blessed day! How I love Raoul!- In a purely brotherly way, you must understand. He is so kind! He has stood beside me since our childhoods- how many times have you met him, Monsieur? I confess that my memory is very poor of late.

Do you know, Monsieur, that Meg Giry did not become empress after all? How strange! Erik is not one to make idle promises, Monsieur! He must simply be very occupied. Is he still at the Opera? I wonder if Monsieur Solfusan knows of his whereabouts. I have written to Monsieur Solfusan as well, but have not received a response.

It is all very strange! I do wonder if there is some conspiracy afoot. Do you know, I believe poor Raoul knows something about all of this! He is terribly sorrowful as of late. I wonder that he manages to function at all!..Poor, sweet Raoul. He is worried over my illness, I believe. How silly he is! But I am not feeling well, and so will rest for Raoul's sake.

I wish to Heaven that I were stronger, so that I could write longer letters. I do not even have the strength to hold a pen, and must dictate to Raoul!

With much love,

Christine Norsalup

This letter was accompanied by a much lengthier manuscript courtesy of the Comte. Secreted away within the envelope was a profuse apology apologizing for Madame Norsalup's mental ills, though I have written to assure the Comte that I do not mind in the slightest. The dear lady yet contains love within her heart; until that is gone, she remains herself.

But now I must speak of the events preceeding these correspondences. It is with a heavy heart that I begin- and begin only as I have no choice but to betray these secrets. Again I must apologize to my readers- this account was written swiftly in the interest of desperate completion; should my words fade in eloquence, my intentions will not waver. It is in the interest of the lady's life, not in the interest of literary excellence, in which I write.

As Madame Norsalup has expressly forbidden me from revealing those parts of her tale which she cannot bear to be known, I am doing my utmost in this introduction to respect her wishes; especially pertaining to the story of her widowing. For reasons wholly understandable, she is extremely protective of her late husband's memory. I hope that she might permit me to explain that Monsieur Norsalup suffered a tragic and difficult life; I am sincere in my hope that he has found peace in Heaven. Though Madame Norsalup's late husband died both unbaptized and unconfirmed, I firmly believe that any loving god will accept him into paradise.

Though I fear that Madame Norsalup will disallow the publication of this detail, I feel I must explain the reason that Monsieur Norsalup suffered such an unjustly cruel life. Monsieur Norsalup suffered a facial disfiguration from birth. This disfiguration was unfortunate in its scope and implications. Monsieur Norsalup suffered a queer yellowing and sinking of the eyes. He also suffered the lack of a fully formed nose, and a dangerously thin face. Combined with a lack of facial hair, this disfigurement gave him the appearance of a living corpse. Indeed, he was exhibited under such names in various fairs in his childhood, and rumored to be such by stagehands in the Opera so he was shunned by the world, and by Madame Norsalup before their marriage. This coldness crippled his heart and hope, and consequently his relations to his world. Nevertheless, he possessed a heart which could hold the whole world- and was ultimately forced to be content with a cellar. His one ray of joy was indeed Madame Norsalup; she is a saint for her love. Ultimately, the couple's kindness makes their fate doubly unjust. On this subject I shall say no more for the time, until I receive Madame Norsalup's next letter. As she now resides in Sweden, our correspondence is very slow indeed.

Out of her infinite kindness, Madame Norsalup has granted me permission to recount events preceeding her first disappearance from the Opera Garnier, upon the day that she was absent from dress rehearsals. However, she asks that I change certain pieces of the tale substantially. Alas, I fear that she may revoke more of these privileges as time passes; for the loss of her husband occurred only three months prior to this writing. At present she is quite infirm of mind and heart, though doctors have assured the Comte de Chagny that she will recover fully in time. It is only to be expected following her grievous loss that she should be somewhat damaged.

It is indeed very strange to think that only a year has passed since Madame Norsalup's rise to fame at the Opera Garnier, her meeting the Comte de Chagny once more- a childhood friend to whom Madame Norsalup was briefly engaged prior to her initial disappearance, and the terrible fall of the chandelier. It is stranger to think that Madame Norsalup was wed to the man once known as the Opera Ghost only five months ago- and that, as tragedy would have it, they spent only twenty-four hours together as a married couple- no less than upon the very anniversary of Madame Norsalup's debut in Faust as Marguerite at the tender age of twenty.

I have assured Madame Norsalup that I will comply with all of her wishes; particularly her wish that no account of her late husband is to be released until, at the very least, a decade hereafter. By the time I am allowed to publish my account, I believe that Madame Norsalup will have allowed very little of the original tale to be written. Her fierce loyalty to her husband's memory is not to be trifled with. Of course, I do not resent this in any way- rather, I am in awe of the kind lady's vows. She holds within her a heart as large as her husband's; it is indeed a tragedy that both should suffer so. I am compassionate for Madame Norsalup's reasoning for allowing the tale to be told at all. I believe she desires compassion and warmth for her late husband, for he never had it from the public in life. I have explained to Madame Norsalup that mytale cannot be taken seriously by the general public, for though the events are factual, they can only be seen as pure sensationalism. Indeed, based upon the confused writings of Madame Norsalup, she seems temporarily addled by grief. She appears always unsure of what I should be allowed to include in my account of the tragic man once known as the Opera Ghost, and even her memory seems very fragmented. I am hopeful that this account will allow her to find some small measure of peace.

Although, as I have repeatedly explained to Madame Norsalup, this account will surely seem sensationalistic, I can personally attest to the truth of these events as a witness. Though I am very wary to say more, I was present during certain events shortly leading to the marriage of Madame Norsalup to her late husband. I have myself seen the silken handkerchief given to Madame Norsalup by her late husband upon her wedding day. It is the only relic she possesses which seems to give her some comfort. Madame Norsalup herself told me that her husband crafted it for her, though it is clearly of a craftsmanship exceeding even the finest cloths of Persia. I dearly regret that I have never seen that miraculous cloth in its unmarred form; for when Madame Norsalup showed the article to me, it was stained a ruddy brown with caked blood. Nonetheless, the much-rumored stitching can clearly be seen to exist. The papers were at least partially truthful in this account- for still lovingly embroidered upon the silk by her husband is the name Christine Norsalup.

Though I am fairly certain that the actual article of cloth could carry much weight as evidence, I cannot bear to ask Madame Norsalup to part with it. Madame Norsalup deserves as much peace as her husband; I dare not stir up a search for her before she herself feels prepared to reenter the public eye and scrutiny. It is my dearest wish that the Comte will assist her in healing, and that Madame Norsalup will find joy once more.

Madame Norsalup has suffered another loss in more ways than one: Her dear Maria Valerius is recently deceased. I will note here that I am very restricted pertaining to what I may say of Madame Valerius. I will say that she passed nearly immediately following the death of Monsieur Norsalup, and that her life was also a tragic one. Madame Norsalup, nee Daae, has very firmly forbidden me from ever telling any more than this upon the subject, and so I can only reiterate the great tragedy of Maria Valerius. Though she passed at the age of eighty, her life could never be said to have been full or prosperous. However, in the final ten years of her life she served as surrogate mother to Madame Norsalup, and it would seem that this was the happiest time of Madame Valerius's life.

There are, of course, many others who played a significant role in these infamous events. Some of these I will address later in my account in depth, for I do not believe that Madame Norsalup will find it to be of concern. Of these, of course, Raoul, the Comte de Chagny, is most prominent. Once Vicomte, Raoul de Chagny became Comte following the death of his older brother Philipp de Chagny. I am permitted to say that his death was not a natural one- he was, in fact, murdered. His body was found over a year ago on the shore of the underground lake of the Opera Garnier, An official cause of death has never been released, though there has been much contention as to whether or not the death was accidental. Initially there was much suspicion of Raoul himself; many believed he drowned his elder brother in the lake. This is laughable, of course- the Comte is gentle and kind; never could he bring himself to murder. There were theories that the former Comte drowned himself- also laughable. The former Comte was not the sort to take his own life. His coldness did not lend itself to self depreciation or self-destruction, and if this had been the case, there would have been an abundance of evidence. Following the exoneration of the current Comte, a great confusion arose. Some suspected La Sorelli, the mistress of the former Comte. La Sorelli, some said, had learned of the Comte's other lady companions. Considered by some to be a vengeful brat, she was noted to be missing during the events leading to the Comte's death. Might not she have lured the Comte to the lake?.. Of course, this notion was shortly perceived to be absurd, and the most popular notion- still surviving to this day- persisted. When the public learned of Raoul's queer behavior leading up to Christine Norsalup's initial disappearance, it became widely agreed that his brother had attempted to prevent some dangerous behavior on the part of the younger brother.

During the weeks leading to Philipp's death, it was let slip by servants of the de Chagny household that Raoul believed in the infamous Opera Ghost. The young man often insisted to his elder brother that the Ghost was not a shade at all, but a mere man living beneath the deepest reaches of the Opera Garnier. It seemed the troubled Vicomte was determined to reach the Ghost's lair and do away with him once and for all. Thus, the reasoning went, was it so implausible that upon hearing of the absence of his fiancé, the Vicomte fled to the bowels of the Opera Garnier to rescue her in his mad fancy? It was certainly conceivable that Philipp, realizing that his brother had lost all sanity, pursued him to the catacombs of the ancient Commune.

Around this time, it was believed that the disappeared Christine Norsalup (Then Daae) was a victim of the two brothers. It was thought that the Vicomte, in his madness, murdered both Madame Norsalup and Philipp. However, Raoul de Chagny's eerily calm demeanor and flawless alibi never wavered; he was soon abdicated of all charges.

Of course, Raoul de Chagny has suffered through great tragedy as well. After losing Christine Norsalup to the Opera Ghost, the Comte suffered the loss of his brother and sisters. However, as the Comte told me in the strictest confidence, he did not consider these losses to be so great as the loss of Christine. He indeed attempted to love his family, but was coldly regarded for years. How was he to feel? What was he to do? He surely attempted to love the family to the best of his ability! Shall we condemn him for his misfortunes? He is still suspected by many. This suspicion has greatly increased following his disappearance. Will he and Madame Norsalup one day reappear? It seems doubtful at this time. May the sweet winds of the far North save them!

Raoul de Chagny has suffered from painful and unexpected memories of his sufferings beneath the Opera Garnier. He describes these events as being triggered by certain words and actions, and causing within him a sheer terror as strong as when the events first occurred. Poor Raoul! His suffering is soothed only by the presence of Madame Norsalup, and even then, it provides him only the most meager respite. Worse still, Raoul's torment does not stem from those miserable subterranean hours alone.

Though the former Comte Philipp looked always fondly upon his younger brother, it cannot be said-according to Raoul's own account- that Philipp was at all open to any behavior which was not strictly considered upstanding Chagny behavior. Raoul has indeed testified that his elder brother was very opposed to his engagement to Madame Norsalup, nee Daae. Indeed, on the very first morning of her first infamous disappearance, Philipp attempted to prevent his younger brother from leaving through force. Nevertheless, I believe Raoul's losses pained him very heavily.

Despite such intense speculation, no one thought to enquire after either AmarieGiry or Darin Solfusan. If either of these venerable people still lived, they could perhaps serve as witnesses.

The late daroga Darin Solfusan would perhaps now have some influence over the gendarmes if he still lived. As the matter stands, he took ill shortly before the death of Monsieur Norsalup.

Monsieur Solfusan played one of the largest roles in the tragedy. For years he was an accomplice to Monsieur Norsalup. He served as a partner and advisor to Monsieur Norsalup since his days an an advisor to the Shah of Persia, and he was a fair and noble gentleman. It can be told that Monsieur Norsalup suffered conditions which posed grave dangers to others and himself, and Monsieur Solfusan took up the duty of protecting the denizens of Paris. He did this duty at the risk of his own life, yet has never been acknowledged for it. Perhaps this travesty may be corrected in no less than a decade- it is a great injustice.

Monsieur Solfusan ultimately gave his life for his cause, and deserves equal recognition to any of our most renowned figures. Of course, his faithful companion Darius Reeshahcannot be forgotten. As a man of no small usefulness, Darius proved to be an invaluable ally in the rescue of Madame Norsalup. Only he remains now to tell his master's tale, and at present he is in a sorry state indeed. Who can truly be blamed for this tragedy is difficult to deduce.

Darius Reeshahdeserves far better than his lonely imprisonment in the derelict insane asylum where he now resides- presumably for the remainder of his life. How should a man be condemned for telling the truth? And yet here we see the evidence! What sin, what crime did Monsieur Reeshah commit? How dark are his depths of sorrow now? Poor Monsieur Reeshah! Perhaps in ten years he may be freed, but this I fear will never come to fruition. The fate of a colored foreigner from the East will never stay in the public mind for long. There are no signs of an impending release, and so it will remain.

Perhaps, had fate been kinder, the venerable but unfortunately deceased AmarieGiry could have prevented the tragedy. Alas, the elderly lady was taken as a madwoman by both the former and latter managers of the Opera Garnier. This reputation allowed her to see things which no other opera worker saw. Viewed as a harmless old biddy by workers and performers, Madame Giry was free to linger about strange and secret corridors, and to pass back and forth letters and capital. She was a dear and well rewarded servant of the Opera Ghost, who was responsible for making her daughter baroness. She knew secrets which are perhaps still unknown to Madame Norsalup; these may remain in the grave with her for eternity. In truth, Madame Giry was a wise and kind lady- may she someday be remembered as such. Due to Madame Norsalup's strict views upon the matter, I fear the old lady shall forever be left in ambiguity. What she could tell us now, following the mysterious events of the previous year, is surely extraordinary- and therefore a great loss.

Indeed, Madame Giry's primary box was one of utmost significance- Box 5, the box of the Opera Ghost himself. It was indeed Monsieur Norsalup's private box, which he never occupied in body. His voice has been heard nonetheless in that very box during performances, very often heralding some disastrous event. This, too, has long remained a mystery- how shall it be solved? How can a man project his voice into a theatre box unseen? If he is not a supernatural being, but merely an ordinary man, how can it be so? I myself have visited that box upon multiple occasions in the past year, and I have many theories. As to the truth of these, time may tell, but I do not hope for the unveiling of the mystery.

Madame Giry was given the honor of personally communicating with Monsieur Norsalup through notes and gifts- she was quite fond of the English chocolates which were left often for her in the box.

Following the rough treatment of the unwithered lady, she was ostracized and downcast in pay by the managers for a period of several months- after which her pay increased to the point of leaving her a wealthy widow. This abrupt change has never been explained- why would a humble box keeper receive a higher salary than the performers upon the stage? Was there blackmail? Some secret arrangement? There are still many rumors, none of them widely agreed upon. Why did the lady continue to work as box keeper when she became wealthy enough to buy the Opera Garnier itself? Was she threatened? Bribed? Was it out of loyalty to some unseen figure? Perhaps none of these was the case. It is my own theory that Madame Girywas indeed ardently loyal to the Opera Ghost, and that she was well-paid for her services. To her early end she presented a loyalty unmatched by any common theatre-worker. Perhaps the new managers of the Opera Garnier will someday remove the statue of the late La Carlotta in favor of a sculpture of Madame Giry.

Of course, many others played a vital role in the tragedy. The sisters of Raoul de Chagny in particular were women of cruelty and egocentrism. They were women of wealth and power; women of manipulation and blackmail. Famed and celebrated, they were no less petty than any common criminal. Known for their beauty and mysticism, they were nonetheless no match for their living companion and confidant AdoracionCastelot-Barbezac. The sisters were nevertheless in fierce competition with the lady, and it can be said of all three that none cared for any other. Of course, Marine and Armelle are nevertheless key players in the tragedy. Though both are now deceased of natural causes, the cause of those fatalities was certainly not natural. I do not know the extent of the causation, though my suspicions of AdoracionCastelot-Barbezac are strong. I have spoken to the lady, and have found her to be a most contemptible and audacious woman. She carries at all times a vulgar grandiosity which would disgust even the most elite of the upper classes. A frightening woman to say the least, Adoracion exudes a coldness beyond the cruelest man, and always shall. For there exists within her a strange callousness perhaps unknown to man, and perhaps some wickedness which will always fester onwards. Perhaps it is the blossom of some strange evil which exists within many, and yet is shown only within a few. Who shall now know? Not I. For indeed, how is evil proven? How may we see beyond the depths of evil into its cause? There is no mechanism for it.

Adoracion was all too eager to speak of herself, but I have dutifully taken down her account. The lady was very directly involved in the tragedy surrounding the newlywed Norsalups. As I am permitted to speak freely of her, I may say that the lady should not ascend to paradise. The woman cares for no one but herself. She nevertheless aided Monsieur Norsalup in securing a husband for Meg Giry, now the Baroness Castelot-Barbezac.

As for Madame Norsalup, there seems to be no balm for her suffering. Her torment is beyond words; a thing too hideous to imagine. I cannot hope to convey in mere, cold words. How may we, as a society, heal her wounds? How should it be just that we caused those wounds? The kind are not always given their due, and too often the wicked prosper. But perhaps she will find solace in the Comte de Chagny. The lady is quite damaged by her ordeal, and I can only hope that her extended stay in Sweden will heal her. She must restore her nerves; she has just celebrated her twenty-first birthday. (Here, I use the term "celebrated" very loosely-) and in her writings she often seems quite unable to comprehend what has happened. The Comte de Chagny writes that she can often be found at night, wandering in sleep. During these times she seems to be searching for her deceased husband, calling for him and uttering strange phrases. Madame Norsalup does not remember these episodes, but the Comte has very clear recollections of the phrases uttered. Though these phrases sound as though they are nothing but madness, I am certain that they carry a great weight and emotion. What secrets may those words tell us about the tragedy? Yet it would be hideous and abysmal to ask Madame Norsalup to give any details about those murmurings. How shall we hope to allow her to endure more torment?

The Comte has written me that the phrases "Red Death would not allow her to love you," "It was a single instance, and the sky was blue," and "I thought you knew of the purple gown," are uttered over and over by Madame Norsalup in her confused state. The Comte dismisses these words as mad ramblings, but I have darker suspicions as to their meaning. I am sure they carry a great deal of weight; upon the only occasion on which the Comte inquired after these murmurings, Madame Norsalup turned quite pale and denied any memory of the words before breaking into a sobbing fit. The matter has not been brought up to her since, and it seems that those words will forever remain a mystery.

The sweet voice of the North has found a new addition in the singing of Madame Norsalup. I am told that she sings quite often now; songs which hold a strange beauty deep and dark in its tragedy- though these operatic songs are never sung in the presence of the Comte- not knowingly. Upon hearing these compositions for the first time, the Comte described them as both hideous and heavenly, characterized by both dissonance and unnatural rage.

Madame Norsalup's mysterious opera may be an opera written by the Ghost himself. I believe that Madame Norsalup herself has described that opera. She has informed me of an opera composed by her husband under the title Don Juan Triumphant, an opera which has never been performed. I am told that Madame Norsalup has in her possession a secret and guarded musical score written in red ink.

Many other mysteries abound. As for the spacious estate which the Norsalups occupied following Madame Norsalup's initial disappearance, no trace has ever been found. I am certain it existed; only its method of disappearance is ambiguous. It seems that the Opera Ghost spirited the place away through some ingenious method; he is, after all, the greatest magician which the world has ever known.

The late Monsieur Norsalup's skills as a magician were and will always be unparalleled; I have it from Madame Norsalup herself that her late husband served as an architect and inventor for the heads of no less than five nations. Indeed, Monsieur Norsalup's creations exceed the known boundaries of scientific discovery. Were I to describe them in detail here, my claims would be mocked as mere fancy. Yet it is all true. What he created will perhaps be seen in our world in more than fifty years, or perhaps not at all. He created palaces of mirrors, strange chemicals, and a mask which made him appear as an ordinary man. At the end of his life he accomplished this task, and it is all the more tragic that this should be so. What that mask might have done! Alas that Monsieur Norsalup had need for it at all!

In his adolescent years, Monsieur Norsalup travelled as a famed magician in the company of gypsies, at least achieving some miniscule respect. I fear that Madame Norsalup will not approve of this part of my tale, for her late husband was miserable in these occupations. Much of Monsieur Norsalup'swork stands to this day, all of which shall later be discussed in-depth.

Indeed, although the man known as the Opera Ghost has left innumerable and concrete traces, many are very subtle for the efforts of AdoracionCastelot-Barbezac, Swarv et, Goliet, and perhaps the Comte himself. The death of Joseph Buquet a year ago, the explosions heard by stagehands from beneath the cellars of the Opera, the testament of Father Arshwartz, the crash of the chandelier upon the unfortunate usher, the horrific fate of La Carlotta, the terrible fates of Monsieur Poligny, the mysterious and abrupt marriage of Meg Giry to the baron HeraclioCastelot-Barbezac, the various disappearances of Christine Norsalup, and the ambiguous passing of Philipp de Chagny are evidence enough. Alas, if Darin Solfusan still lived, he would perhaps have some influence over the gendarmes.

I would not wish to give the impression that I have not performed exhaustive amounts of research upon the subject. I have upon multiple occasions visited the library of the Opera Garnier, and there is abundant evidence of the evidence of the existence of Monsieur Norsalup. In the year eighteen seventy-two there was a mysterious man contracted to build upon the Opera Garnier. He gave the name Armond Nortoui, though the man has never been seen. Nevertheless, his genius is clearly visible in the statues and architecture of the Opera Garnier. And, though the document is now in tatters, there exists within the files an agreement between the owners of the Opera and Armond Nortoui that he would be allowed to live beneath it. Madame Norsalup and I are told that the documents are considered unofficial, as they were signed in an illicit agreement.

Tales of Armond Nortouiare well-documented. In our research, Madame Norsalup and I learned that Armond Nortoui was quite influential in the construction of the Opera Garnier. Armond Nortoui was responsible for overseeing much of the construction of the Opera. He was particularly responsible for the stage acoustics and placement of window casings. He was never seen, instead pretending to send notes and leaving mysterious letters about the Opera. This was dismissed as a queer eccentricity by the masons, and very few made a connection through this and the communication of the Opera Ghost through notes twenty years later.

As Monsieur Norsalup constructed much of the Opera Garnier, many of the tragedies can perhaps be explained. Monsieur Norsalup was, after all, responsible for the creation of the lake beneath the Opera and the grand chandelier. Did he perhaps anticipate strange disasters, and and equipped the chandelier with a falling mechanism?

It is also my theory that the Ghost produced the illusion of speech from Box 5 by means of a hollow column, large enough for a man to stand in. He was the world's greatest ventriloquist, and so easily could have provided the illusion of his voice emanating from within the box. Madame Norsalup has concurred with me upon these theories. Her assistance has been invaluable, and I am forever in her debt.

Of course, there are many others to whom I must give thanks. HayettGustan, the keeper of records in the Opera Garnier files, was invaluable in my research. Even AdoracionCastelot-Barbezac deserves acknowledgement for her contributions to my tale. Her lost friend, Raoul de Chagny, deserves perhaps the most thanks for his kindness to Christine Norsalup. A more dedicated friend shall never be found, and I am confident that Madame Norsalup shall return to good spirits in time.

Perhaps some small measure of good can come from the tragedy. Perhaps the minds of society can be altered by this knowledge. It was the coldness and small-mindedness of society which condemned Monsieur Norsalup to his fate. After all, Monsieur Norsalup's only original sin was his ugliness. What was his hideous crime? Is it simply that the Opera Ghost should have suffered for our prejudices? Should he have received love only from Christine Norsalup? How should this be just? Are we to allow it to pass in silence? How shall we judge injustice? Perhaps this shall never be decided. And how cruel it is! Are we, as mere mortals below God, to judge such matters as only He may decide? I do not believe it to be so. Perhaps we may learn to love those who are not gifted with beauty. If nothing else is accomplished, if even Madame Norsalup should perish, I pray to change intolerance of differences. After all, Monsieur Norsalup would have been adored as a genius and inventor had he only been ordinary!

As for myself, I may safely say that I have been changed for the better by these events. If ever I held any prejudices against ugliness, I have none now.

I beg readers of this work to consider this: the shadow of AdoracionCastelot-Barbezac exists within all of us. We all hold the capacity for such cruelty; are we to allow ourselves to be bloodied in it? If we continue on as we have, I fear that many will become as Monsieur Norsalup at the hands of society. Our hearts are small, and we have failed Monsieur Norsalup. How may we pay our penance for it? How many others, ugly like Monsieur Norsalup, exist? How shall we treat them now? Is there hope for those poor souls, still subject to our prejudices? How shall we treat Madame Norsalup? We must find compassion within ourselves. And if we do not find it? How then should the world go on in peace when such travesties exist? It cannot! We must see that we learn to change our hearts, or we will all share the fates of the Norsalups. May our hearts be changed by the tale of one with a heart so large, but had to be content with a cellar.

Let us take Madame Norsalup's example. She is a saint for her love; why cannot we do as she does? Perhaps then there may never be another to suffer Monsieur Norsalup's fate. May another never have to live away from the light. May beauty be seen as nothing more than a superficial trait, and ultimately be forgotten. It is the least which we owe them- we must pay our due.

In closing of this introduction, I must stress a final point: Christine Norsalup was not abducted during her initial disappearance on the night before dress rehearsal; she was completely under her own power. It was her choice entirely to descend beneath the Opera Garnier to seek out Monsieur Norsalup. Contrary to public opinion, Christine Norsalup visited those cellars with the intention of disappearing. On that night she knowingly left the apartments which she cohabited with Madame Valerius; she knowingly departed the safe world of light. What she believed her fate would be, she did not quite know. But she held bravery in her heart, and love in her soul. This part of the tale I am not yet permitted to tell, but perhaps one day it may be known. For this part of the tale is where Madame NorsalupNorsalup stands rigid, and how may she be blamed?

And so for this reason I beg leave to instead tell what came after Madame Norsalup's journey to the cellars of the Opera. This was a well-known time in which the mysterious deeds of the Opera Ghost ceased, and during which Madame Norsalup could not be found. Perhaps I shall one day tell what occurred- but for now, that part of the tale shall remain safely in my mind.


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